Chapter 2
After the game, Cory quickly changed into his street clothes. The locker room, a big open space with lockers against three of the four walls and benches in the middle, was quiet as he stripped off his gear. His black goalie pants had a tear in the knee and the expensive goalie gloves he'd talked his mom into buying certainly hadn't helped keep the ball out of the net. He stuffed the gear into his locker and quickly jammed on his blue jeans and black Metallica t-shirt. Cory was not about to take a shower. Nowhere to hide in this big room and the silence of his teammates made standing at his locker unbearable. All he could focus on was getting out of there as fast as possible. The looks were tolerable, but not the silence. So, he threw his backpack on and walked out the double doors to the bike rack and parking lot.
Cory Towson was short for a goalkeeper. He figured he would grow taller. After all, his father stood at six feet, two inches. And though only a sophomore in high school, growth needed to happen now, as far as he was concerned. Cory did have the strong chin and thick brown hair from his dad's side of the family. But his hazel eyes were clearly from his mom's side.
As he pedaled his bike, a silver Costco ten speed, down Kingsway Road, he thought about his father. There had been times, at home or even going out to eat, when his father would pick Cory up and hoist him over his head, onto his shoulders. It had always felt to Cory like being in the clouds when he rode on his father’s shoulders. He stopped pedaling and coasted. Of course, that was a long time ago. And now, with his parents divorced, his father was out of their lives. The reminder that their family was not a family anymore soured Cory’s stomach. What a lousy day, he thought, beginning to pedal again.
“Cory!”
Cory coasted again and turned at the familiar sound of the voice, balancing a little left to keep upright.
“Hey! Wait up!”
It was Gene Van Sykes. Straining at the pedals of his own bike, he was trying to catch up with Cory. Gene was a friend. A pain sometimes, thought Cory, but his only friend since moving here back in July. Cory slowed, then stopped, so Gene could catch up. He put a foot on the curb so he could stay in the seat.
Gene was tall and lanky, and the too-small bicycle he was riding made the image worse. His long legs stuck out at strange angles, pumping up and down wildly on his black BMX. The picture made Cory laugh. Gene quickly caught up and Cory, pushing off the curb, fell into rhythm with Gene’s crazy legs.
“Hey, Gene,” Cory nearly shouted, looking sideways at Gene’s bike. Both boys swung their bikes onto Longview Street, leaning in unison. “Why don’t you get a bigger bike?”
Gene shot a quick look at Cory, cheeks still red from his effort to catch up. “Man, you know why.” Gene had a habit of saying "man" that always surprised Cory. He wasn’t sure where Gene picked up the habit, but Cory thought it sounded dumb.
“Oh, right,” Cory called back. “Not ‘til that one falls apart.”
Cory smiled as he looked over at Gene, feeling the afternoon wind press the shirt against his chest. They were even, riding down the middle of the road.
“I could take it apart. Put it back again so it won’t ride.”
“No!” cried Gene, jerking his bike reflexively away from Cory’s, then angling back to resume their pace together. “It’s okay to ride,” he said half-heartedly.
Cory smiled again. He hadn’t really meant what he said. He just wanted to hear Gene’s reaction. Gene, as far as Cory knew, never tried anything daring or new. He always played it safe, and this somehow made Cory feel better than Gene.
“Tough game today,” Gene said as they cruised past Lumar Street, Gene’s turnoff for home. Gene stayed with him. Cory was glad for the company. He guessed his mom wasn’t home.
“Yeah,” answered Cory. “If I hadn’t fallen on my face out there, maybe they wouldn’t have scored. I blew it.”
“You didn’t get proper warm-up time,” Gene said. “Gray messed up his ankle and you had to go in cold.”
Cory's stomach tightened as they talked about the game.
“Well,” continued Gene, his legs pumping frantically for a few turns, stopping, then pumping, to keep up with Cory. “According to research…”
“Aw, here we go again, “ sighed Cory, dropping his head in disgust and nearly hitting the handlebars on his bike. “Another research talk.”
Gene ignored him. “As I said, according to the research, athletes, especially goalkeepers, need a minimum of fifteen minutes' warm-up to be properly prepared for the quick movements a game demands.”
“That’s fine, professor," Cory snapped, his anger rising. "Just try telling that to Quinn and the rest of the guys!”
They coasted into Cory’s driveway.
“Dang,” Gene said, as they coasted to a stop. “I was just trying to help.”
“Yeah, well,” Cory answered, tossing his bike on the grass in frustration. “Thanks, anyway.”
The driveway was empty where Cory's mom always parked. Empty more often, since she started seeing this new man. It used to be so different back in Utah. Someone was always there to welcome Cory home after school. But it’d been a year since the divorce and now Cory and his dad hardly spoke.
As Cory and Gene entered the kitchen, sure enough, Cory spied a note on the refrigerator. It was held in place by a magnet with a bird and the word Intention on it. He’s always wondered what the word meant, but never asked. He glanced at the note.
Cory. Be home later. At the mall. Love, Mom.
“Yeah, right,” mumbled Cory, opening the refrigerator and pulling out a large jar of chunky peanut butter and another filled with strawberry jam. Gene was already separating slices of bread.
“Yeah, right, what?” Gene asked, moving to the jars, dipping out peanut butter and slapping it onto the bread. Cory worked the jam.
“Nothin’,” he answered.
The two boys worked as a team. In a matter of minutes they had four sandwiches, a bag of kettle chips, and plastic bottles of soda on the kitchen table. There was lots of chewing and gulping before either boy said a word. Gene was clumsy when it came to sports, thought Cory as he bit again into his first sandwich, but he works like a pro when it comes to food. Gene was first to speak.
“So, what’s up with your mom, man?” He took another bite of sandwich. “She’s usually home.”
Cory did not answer right away. His mom worked from home, transferring medical records from different insurance companies into some online storage platform, as she called it. He thought again about the note. Then he thought about the man. Allen. Lately, that’s always where she went, to be with Allen.
Images flashed through Cory’s mind as he chewed, his sandwich suddenly tasting like sawdust. Like last week when Cory wanted to ask about buying new goalie gloves. Cory's mom suddenly dashed outside in the middle of their conversation to greet Allen, who had just driven into the driveway. Yeah, Cory had to admit, they talked later. But it was clear Allen was more important than her own son!
Cory suddenly realized Gene was staring at him. His eyes looked bigger than normal.
“Um, what did you say?” Cory asked, feeling foolish.
Gene took a slow bite of his sandwich, chewed, then swallowed.
“Man, you just spaced out. Like you were mad or something.”
Cory focused on eating his sandwich to cover up his embarrassment. “Oh, my mother’s just gone all the time these days,” he said with a mouth half full of food.
“That’s okay,” Gene said, putting the last bite, enough for two mouthfuls, in his mouth. “Thath meanths we can eath more footh,” he said, spraying breadcrumbs across the table. Cory had taken a sip of soda and suddenly choked with laughter at Gene’s antics, snorting it out through his nostrils.
Both boys broke into hysterics, each battling to swallow his mouthful. For the next few minutes, each time Gene or Cory looked at each other, howling fits of laughter followed. Cory felt tears
come to his eyes.
Eventually, they managed to finish eating. Gene decided he had to go home, placing his empty dish and glass in the sink. Cory followed him out, through the kitchen door and into the open garage.
“See you tomorrow,” Cory said, half waving as Gene picked up his bike.
“Yep,” Gene shouted back over his shoulder and rode off.
As Cory walked back into the empty house, the shift from uncontrolled laughter to the quiet depressed him. He sighed, went to the table, picked up his dishes and placed them in the sink on top of Gene’s. Walking aimlessly out of the kitchen, he went into the living room and looked out the front window. The afternoon sun splashed softly on the front lawn. It looked peaceful out there, but inside, his stomach and nerves were a wreck. He kept replaying in his mind his face-plant that led to the Riverside goal. Walking over to the couch, Cory switched on the television and turned up the volume more than was allowed when his mom was home. Anything to push the memory of those ten minutes in goal out of his mind.